The Boy King
by Mourning Bloodytears
Summary: From a young prince to noble King, the life of William the Just unfolds.
1. Author's Notes

**Author's Note** – After playing _Blood Omen_ I decided to make a story of William the Just. There are two timelines of William's life; one where he, as an older monarch known as the Nemesis, fought against Ottomar and the second where he was killed as a young man before he could begin his rise as the Nemesis. I chose the second option as oppose to the first because I saw more possibility in it. 

The story is not completely AU but since little to nothing was known about William and the surrounding kingdoms, I decided to go ahead and be imaginative on some points. Everything major of course will not be changed; I am simply writing about a character that I feel has been sorely overlooked just because he did not get enough screen time in the videogame.


	2. Prologue

Nosgoth had known battles. The land was scarred from the clash of too many armies, the earth cut like so much meat by the sword and spear. In the cities and towns, where violence was as common as the gypsies that wandered through, flesh was cut in the back alleys, bones broken, blood spilt. Through the spilling of blood that fell like so much rain, the plants learned to thrive and grow on this essence. As the corpses of the fallen soldiers littered the plain, so did their rotting bodies breath new life into the soil.  
  
Nosgoth thrived on death. The land seemed to shimmer with death, a palpable energy felt but not seen by those who were not graced with the gift of magic. Then again, people who were not graced with magic feared those who were. Witches were burned in public; sorcerers were hung once their practices were known. The ever-present threat of vampires beyond the protection of the town and city gates made even the well trained solider wary. Most humans, given the choice, would have preferred a death in their warm beds, surrounded by family and friends. The ones who were not as fortunate, to be waylaid on the road by the bloodthirsty monsters, were given a prayer when they did not return. Some humans whispered that other mortals, succumbing to their dark desires or perhaps not in a clear state of mind, went into the darkness to embrace the vampires, hoping they would be turned into one. People shook their heads, tsked quietly and wondered what would have possessed anyone to place their soul in such peril.  
  
Nosgoth was a land tainted by fear roiling just below the surface of everyday life. In a constant struggle for survival, fear was one of the few raw emotions that leant strength to the people. It made them strong. The peasants feared the merchants; the merchants feared the nobles, who in turned feared the royalty of the land. And the royalty in turned feared the Circle. The only people who were held in a mixture of awe and dread for their magical abilities and political prowess were the Circle of Nine.  
  
Guardians of the mystical Pillars of Nosgoth, the Nine as they were known could condemn any person. No one fought the Circle of Nine without a reason, and even then the chances of surviving such an encounter was highly doubtful. It was whispered that they were the true masters of the royal houses in the land; that they orchestrated the rise and fall of every monarchy. That a king or queen was only as powerful as they were with the backing the Circle chose to give them. A voice from the people was never raised to question such things. Sometimes the truth was better left unknown.  
  
He was born into a world of strife, a world of darkness. In a land that was constantly under the threat of creatures born of the night, of political intrigues that could leave people dead and towns destroyed, where not even friends could be trusted, he was raised. Baptized and given the name William upon his birth, known as the Just by the people for his actions, the young boy who would become a noble king, would rule.  
  
A boy whose life would be tragically cut short before he could accomplish a goal that would have sent Nosgoth down a new path. A boy whose death brought the wheels of Fate grinding to a halt and unknowingly reshape the flow of Time itself... 


	3. A Celebrated Birth

A joyous cry was raised up from the people of Nibelung in the southern most country of Nosgoth. From the capital city, Stahlberg, came the news that an heir had finally been born to King Sigurd and Queen Iseult. The succession to the throne was secure. In the villages and towns, the people filled the streets and toasted to their majesties continuing good health and fortune, and added prayers of protection to the newly born prince. All the roads of Nibelung led to Stahlberg, and along the way there were criers who announced the news to merchants and pilgrims that were travelling. Most people deviated from their journeys to head to the royal capital to join in the celebration.  
  
In Stahlberg itself the streets were so packed with people that most who travelled on horseback or with a wagon had to abandon them and use their feet instead to move through the throng. Colourful streamers festooned the buildings; red roses - the symbol of the Nibelung royals - were placed outside every doorway and more than one city square had been set up for the dancing that celebrations entailed. The inns were full; some innkeepers went as far to rent out the stables themselves to people. No one complained, happy to know that they were privileged to at least be inside the city of Stahlberg. The capital was becoming so heaving with people that now some were being denied entrance at the gates. Restaurants enjoyed the brisk business that the celebration over the prince's birth had brought them, and merchants turned a tidy profit with their wares. Minstrels composed songs in honour to the King and Queen; artists commissioned by the royal household were furiously at work painting portraits of the new family, and already the metal smiths were forging armour for the prince when he grew older.  
  
Still, there was a hush from time to time in the celebrations. It was not fatigue, nor was it concern that perhaps in the mist of all this happiness, that a rival kingdom would plot the death of the newborn child. A trivial concern was what occupied the minds of the subjects of Nibelung, but it obsessed them all the same. The King, it was rumoured, had yet to give his son a proper name. To the people of Nibelung, a name was something that was of grave importance, which once given held a certain power over the person's life until they entered the grave. Outsiders from other kingdoms could not understand such a silly thing, but then that was why they were outsiders.  
  
"The prince will be named after his father, of course," a merchant that had come all the way from Coorhagen said matter-of-factly. "It is the way that it is done in my village. The child honours the parent by carrying on the name."  
  
A city guard, dressed in the blood red livery of the royal family, shook his head. "That would be nothing but bad luck. To name a child after someone who is still alive; they might lead the same life as the parent. Nothing like that is ever done in Stahlberg."  
  
"Are you saying that I am wrong?" the merchant retorted quickly, his ample belly shaking with rage. The city guard only gave a shake of his head, which the merchant interpreted as condescending. In the end, it took three city guards to pull the fat man off the Stahlberg guard.  
  
As much as the people whispered and questioned, they knew they would not learn the name of prince until well past nightfall. The first people to know the name of the new baby, besides his parents, would be the nobles and vassals tied to King Sigurd. Already the nobles were coming to pay homage to their future king and to re-establish ties with their present one. Coaches trimmed in gold and silver, bearing the sigils of the many houses of Nibelung rolled up the main avenue towards the magnificent castle that rose over the rest of the city. Teams of horses, driven by their masters, craftily weaved in and out of the crowds while the porters behind the lords and ladies struggled to keep up with the luggage. People lined the avenue, hoping to see perhaps a glimpse of one of the nobles, but the curtains on the coaches were drawn tight and not even a glimpse of cloth could be seen.  
  
The castle of Stahlberg was a feat of engineering and a wonder to behold. The outer wall and portcullis, made of smooth white stone that towered over fifty feet, was an impossible height for any man to climb; the edges tipped with spikes pointing outwards. Guards walked along the walls, watching for any danger even during the celebrations. Four towers, pointing in the directions of the compass, loomed overhead with the banner of King Sigurd snapping in the wind. From the outer courtyard, draped in red banners and roses, the nobles could crane their heads back and have the illusion that the towers would suddenly fall down on them. It was disorienting, and more than one lord that had dismounted from his coach had to avert his gaze before he landed on his back.  
  
A portcullis, made from heavy iron with metal roses worked into the design, was set in the wall to the east. Wild roses, tended by the gardeners, clung to the stonewalls and framed the portcullis which was high enough for a man to walk under and three people to walk abreast. Through the eastern portcullis the nobles, in a procession from the highest lord to the lowest baron, walked into the inner courtyard. Low and wide steps, made from the same stone as the castle but polished to a shine, led up to a large oak door thrown open to welcome the visitors into the castle itself. Passing under the door, entering a long and large hall with white marble pillars and flying buttresses supporting the roof, the nobles walked down the scarlet carpet trimmed in gold to the throne room itself. Stahlberg Castle, as the nobles quietly talked amongst themselves, was striking to all the visitors that it took in.  
  
The throne room was even more imposing than the rest of the castle. Large enough to hold well over a thousand people, the fresco ceiling so far up that the designs were barely seen, the floor done in white marble veined in gold, it was the architectural triumph of the master builder who had designed the castle. Twelve pillars, six flanking each other on either side of the throne room, were wrapped in garlands of red roses and gold ribbon. From the walls hung the banners of the King, red and gold standing out from the white of the room. Tall arched windows at the back of the throne room let in the sunlight, which felt in a yellow shaft across the two thrones.  
  
Both were made of gold, both carved into the likeness of dragons with the wings spread so wide the tips touched each other. Sitting in the throne to the left was King Sigurd, an imposing man dressed in ceremonial red armour with a brown beard that was trimmed close to his weathered face. The crown of Nibelung, a golden circlet shaped as a serpent with ruby eyes, sat on his head. In his right hand King Sigurd held a simple white rod tipped in gold. He had come to the throne well into his twenty-third year, after his father before his had died of a wasting disease of the body and mind. A warrior who had fought long to keep his borders safe from enemies, who fought the horrors that plagued his people, King Sigurd was a man highly honoured throughout all of Nibelung.  
  
To his right sat Queen Iseult. A princess from the eastern country that bordered with Nibelung, Iseult had been declared by the people at first unfit to be their queen. That perception had changed once they realized that Iseult, although an outsider, was a foreigner that truly cared for the well being of her new people. There were more portraits of the fair-haired and doe-eyed Iseult that hung in the households of the Nibelungs than that of Sigurd. Composed and empathetic, with a will of iron, Queen Iseult was a woman that received the love of the people who met her. Clothed in a cream- coloured velvet gown, a simple gold circlet around her forehead, Iseult gave a loving smile to her newborn son, which lay cradled in her arms.  
  
King Sigurd stood once all the nobles had entered into the throne room. The doors closed shut behind the last of the lords and ladies. From the balcony above trumpets blared, signalling the people to fall silent. The murmurs died away quickly as all eyes turned towards their ruler. When Sigurd spoke, his voice rolled forth, filled with power.  
  
"My loyal vassals, I thank you all for making the journey to Stahlberg. I am filled with joy as I tell you all this, that I have now, at long last, an heir to my kingdom. The name that I have chosen for my son is one that I hope that for years to come will be written down and spoken of in the highest regard. I name the new prince of Nibelung, your future king, William."  
  
At this the nobles let out a cheer, clenched fists from the lords rising up into the air while the ladies clapped. There were cries from around the throne room that congratulated the king on choosing such a simple yet powerful name. Sigurd waited until the voices had died down before continuing his speech. "I ask you all now, as you have sworn loyalty unending to me, that you now pledge your allegiance to my newborn son."  
  
Queen Iseult rose gracefully from her throne, coming to stand beside her husband as she held William in her arms. Hair as fine as swan down, the colour of his mother's hair, covered William's head. The baby's eyes were wide open, the blue irises examining everything the way a newborn only can. Small hands fisted together, then unclenched to only wrap around the swaddling cloth.  
  
"He is already ready to hold a sword," Sigurd murmured quietly into his wife's ear as the first of the nobles approached.  
  
Smiling elegantly as the Lord and Lady Nuln of the northern provinces came forwards to pay homage to William, Iseult replied just as quietly "Not unless I have something to say about that, dear husband." King Sigurd did not have time to come back with a retort as he accepted the gift from Lord Yves, a small chest filled with spices that came from the provinces themselves.  
  
Approaching next, painfully tall and thin, was the Duke of Gundred. Old and slightly hard of hearing in the left ear, the duke nonetheless managed to lower himself down on his right knee and clasp King Sigurd's right hand. "I do solemnly swear that I will be loyal to the end of my days to your household, My Majesty. That I will never waver in my dedication to you or to the young prince William." Duke Gundred sealed his pledge by kissing the gold ring on Sigurd's hand. Rising shakily, Gundred gave a quick smile to Iseult, and then looked down at William.  
  
"Do you have a gift for my son," Sigurd questioned quietly.  
  
Gundred blinked his eyes for a moment, as if unsure of the question. He smiled quickly, bobbing his head much like a bird, the blue doublet he wore with a gold necklace made of large links clinking together. "Yes, of course. My gift is that, when the young prince comes of age, he may choose any one of my fine horses that I breed."  
  
Iseult gave a small nod with her head. "That is a very generous offer, Duke Gundred. We thank you on our son's behalf." As the duke moved away to allow the other waiting nobles to come forwards, Iseult gave a sideways glance to her husband. "Assuming that he lives that long. I do not know for the life of me his exact age."  
  
"Old as the pillars, old as the pillars," the king responded.  
  
William gave a tiny shriek as the Baroness Frigg, a large woman with the appearance that looked like that of a frog, hovered over the prince. "What a beautiful child, beautiful," she crooned, the wart on the right side of her lower lip moving sickeningly. "He will grow into a fine young man, Your Majesties." She looked at Iseult as she spoke. "And I hope that you will consider a prospective marriage between prince William and my own daughter, who unfortunately could not be here. She is only a few months older than he is." Baroness Frigg wagged a fat finger in front of William's face.  
  
Iseult took a step back without being discreet, giving now only a polite smile to the woman. "We will consider the match, Baroness." Frigg gave a smile; she obviously thought in her fat mind that the match had already been made. Her gift to the baby was a chest filled with expensive oils that her factories produced and were sent over all of Nosgoth.  
  
"If she even thinks that we would consider such a match, she is dumber than she looks," Iseult breathed through clenched teeth, her lips frozen in a false smile. "William will not marry any girl lower than a duchess; I forbid it."  
  
Sigurd watched the quiet anger on his wife's face. When Iseult's emotions boiled so closely to the surface, he knew as all husbands knew to leave his wife alone. As the nobles came and went, giving gifts from gilded cribs - which were now well over nine placed off to the side - toys, gold bullion, silver, and even wooden swords, King Sigurd began to grow restless. A feeling began to build inside of him, one that had served him well on the battlefield. That something unwanted; something that the king under no circumstances wished to be part of was approaching the castle.  
  
He shifted his feet and hid a yawn behind one hand. An itch began at the back of his neck that he sorely wished to scratch but couldn't. One noble, a count from the southern provinces, was making a grand display of his gifts to the royal couple. To Sigurd the count reminded him of a peacock that strutted his feathers once too often and was in dire need of a plucking. The man's voice dimmed as the gut feeling in the king grew. King Sigurd began to grow anxious. Iseult saw the look on her husband's face and smoothly cut into the count's speech, thanking him profoundly for his thoughtful gift before sending him on his way.  
  
"What is it," she asked, moving William gently in her arms to a more comfortable position.  
  
"A feeling, something that is-"  
  
Before Sigurd could finish the rest of his sentence, a loud report came from the door, resonating around the throne room. Simultaneously all the people turned towards the closed door. The royal guard eyed the door suspiciously, then turned to look at their king for permission to open it. Sigurd gave a nod, knowing that the reason for his discomfort lay behind the door. It was like a gnat buzzing near his ear, not allowing him to focus on anything else. The double doors opened quickly, the oiled hinges working silently. It was an immediate reaction from the assembled people once they saw who stood in the doorway; they drew back with their heads down, eyes staring at the ground as if finding something of interest there.  
  
King Sigurd, never letting a shred of emotion pass over his face, repressed a low sigh, unclenched his hands and spoke in a pleasant voice to the visitor. "Welcome, Time Streamer."  
  
Moebius, the Guardian of the Pillar of Time, gave a genial smile that held an air of arrogance in it. Leaning against his staff, the old man walked slowly into the throne room. Moebius' grey robes were simple in comparison to the trappings of the lords, but for all the lack of show the old man wore them like he was king himself. A path was made for him quickly, one or two ladies drawing their skirts up quickly, without trying to conceal the action, before the Time Streamer could touch the cloth in his passing. It was no secret that the presence of any of the Pillar Guardians was unwelcome in the Nibelung court, but not one person would say it, not even King Sigurd. The political problems that followed an irked Circle member were many and none of them pleasant.  
  
"I have come on behalf of the Circle to extend our deepest congratulations and blessings to you both, King Sigurd and Queen Iseult." Moebius' reedy voice carried in the expansive throne room. He did not bow to the royal couple; a Circle member as powerful as he was did not do such things.  
  
"We thank you, both of us." Sigurd answered too quickly, his anxiousness beginning to show through his mask. The king took a step closer to his wife and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as Moebius approached her. The wizened wizard, his milky white eyes looking like they belonged to a blind man, noticed the significance behind the move but did nothing. He gazed down at William, who had been squirming before in his mother's arms.  
  
Iseult did not approve of the Time Streamer. Her aunts and mother had taught her that to invite the attentions of any Pillar Guardian would bring nothing good from it. She knew that the Circle had sought a foothold in the Nibelung court but had never succeeded. The kings before had been independent, fiercely so, and resented any outside intrusion. With the way Moebius was looking at her son William, it was as if the mage was looking for strings from which to pull a puppet. That the young prince would be able to further the political power of the Circle of Nine.  
  
The queen took a step back, breaking away from her husbands grip and putting distance between her and Moebius. "I want you gone, Time Streamer."  
  
Sigurd drew in a sharp breath, looking at his wife in shock. Moebius' stared right at the queen, acting like he did not know what she was talking about. "I beg your pardon, Queen Iseult."  
  
"No, no pardon from me," she answered. It had grown deathly quiet in the throne room, every ear straining to catch every word. "I want you to turn around, place one foot in front of the other and leave this hall. Leave this city and leave this country. Do not dare to return. We thank the Circle for their blessings, but we can do very well without them, Time Streamer."  
  
Moebius' face darkened considerably, his brow wrinkling as his eyes narrowed dangerously. Iseult held William close to her, using every bit of her imposing presence against the Time Streamer. She swallowed a trickle of fear, the anger in her spilling over. King Sigurd moved to stand in front of his wife, giving an icy look to Moebius.  
  
"Leave," was all he uttered.  
  
To his credit Moebius did not take a step back from the tall king. He looked at both the king and queen equally, a thin smile filled with hatred in it. "Very well then. I will leave the Nibelung court in peace, but I hope you are both aware of your actions here." When no response came, the Time Streamer simply shrugged his shoulders and turned to walk away. As he approached the doors leading out of the throne room, Moebius turned back and smiled at the queen.  
  
"And would you let me leave without even telling you, for no price whatsoever, the future that is in store for prince William?"  
  
"You will leave this place, you snake," Iseult nearly screamed at the Circle guardian, her body trembling in rage. "My son will make his own destiny. He will not become a puppet in your schemes like other people have!" William began to cry as his mother's voice rebounded off the walls. "You have no right to deem yourself a controller of peoples fates!"  
  
Moebius turned away from the enraged queen and began to walk from the castle. As he passed by the royal guards, the Time Streamer whispered, very softly "So you would believe Queen Iseult. So you would believe." No one stopped the Circle member; a wide berth was given to Moebius all the way to the entrance of the castle itself. Once he was beyond the castle walls, swallowed up by the crowd of loyal subjects waiting outside the gates, did the guards themselves begin to feel better.  
  
Back in the throne room, Iseult had been taken off to one of the small rooms linked with the throne room by her handmaidens. King Sigurd stayed with his vassals, calling for the entertainment to begin to take the peoples minds off of what had just happened. Safely away from the prying eyes of the nobles, the queen finally broke down and began to cry. Handing William over to Brynhild, the most senior of her ladies, the queen angrily held her crown in her hands and whispered fiercely to herself.  
  
"My son will not become a puppet to that serpent Moebius."  
  
William, in the small confines of the chamber, continued to cry. 


	4. The Serioli's Orders

"There are problems forming in Nibelung. Problems that I wish to have taken care of before they become larger than they should be allowed to become. The proverbial wyrm that would one day grow into a dragon."   
  
Each word that passed Moebius' aged lips were spoken with deliberate slowness, filled heavily with double meaning. As the wizard paced around his scrying pool in the heart of what had once been the Sarafan Fortress, he glanced into the water. Images formed briefly, only to fade away with barely seen ripples and replaced again. Events that were taking place leagues away on the other side of Nosgoth could be see easily by Moebius as the event unfolding in front of him. Completing his circuit of the scrying pool, the Pillar Guardian turned his eyes upwards to look at his personal banner. A black hourglass against a red backdrop; the Time Streamer's sign and the banner carried before his army of vampire hunters.   
  
How quickly his own sigil had replaced those of the Sarafan once the Brotherhood had fallen. It was as it should be, Moebius contemplated. Should he not be the new leader of a new generation of vampire killers, when the ones of old had fallen? What he not properly qualified to direct such an army to destroy such a threat? He was one of the three survivors of the attack long ago that had claimed the lives of six of the Guardian's brethren, and Moebius was older than even Mortanius. Besides, Moebius assumed arrogantly, he was the Time Guardian. He had more power in his hands than the rest of the Circle had combined. Of course, to voice such a view would be unwise.  
  
Turning back to the present and away from his inner thoughts, the Time Streamer looked at the kneeling figure in front of him. A brown robe, unremarkable in and of itself, hid the figure's form and making it useless to wager the gender of the person until they spoke. The cowl hid the face in shadow; not even a wisp of hair was seen. On the floor to the right of the figure was a sheathed falchion, the scabbard inlaid with runes that most learned people would not be able to speak, let alone know about. A weaponsmith, on the chance of seeing the sword, would have remarked on the time and quality given to the scabbard, and if seeing the blade, would have been compelled to find out how the metal was made.   
  
Moebius knew for a fact that the blade's creator, much like its weilder, were very unique to the world. The Serioli, small tribes of humans who long ago shunned the existence of life in crowded cities and preferred to perfect their art of weaponsmaking, were greatly heard of but rarely seen. When a group of Serioli - who looked as normal as any other human - came to a town fair, any warrior who knew the mettle of a blade came to buy from them. The Serioli could charge any price for their weapons, and it would be paid without question. Daggers that had been inlaid with runes of power, made from bronze, iron and silver in such a way so they never broke or needed sharpening were prized items, bought by nobles and given to the young sons of the families. When their wares had been sold, the Serioli left just as they had come until the next fair.   
  
Besides being expert weaponmakers, the Serioli also were employed as executioners. A darker side to the group, one that was known only to a few outsiders. The Serioli, for a certain fee, could be purchased for a brief time to deal with the troubles of others. Efficient, indifferent to the troubles of the world around them, whoever paid the fee that had been set had their problems taken care of, the whole time knowing that such things would never be spoken of. They never chose sides; neutrality was a game that the Serioli had gambled long and well with.  
  
Moebius had known that when he had summoned for a Serioli assassin. One had come to his call, now in the presence of the Streamer. Moebius knew that his breath would be wasted if he went into depth as to why he wished the problem to be solved; only the defining information needed to be given, only the essentials.  
  
"I have heard from sources that you are one of the best. That you have taken care of these problems before, have dealt with such prestigious people."  
  
"Your flattery will get you nowhere, Pillar Guardian. You are merely wasting your time, and more importantly, mine."   
  
The voice was feminine, with an almost joking quality to it. Information could easily be gained from just hearing a person's voice, but Moebius was not inclined to trust that information. The Serioli assassins assumed whatever form was easier to deal with their target; actors that could bring shame to those that performed in Willendorf. The Time Streamer had no way of knowing if this was all an act or perhaps the true voice of the female Serioli in front of him. With the situation he was dealing with before him, it would be safer to not assume anything.  
  
"Yes time, the one thing that keeps on slipping by. Before I speak of the business in hand that lies waiting for you in Nibelung, I would wish to look at the face of my assassin." A black gloved hand moved in the folds of the cloak; the hood was flung back. Staring straight at him with a cold gaze, the iris a light green, the Serioli's face was indifferent. She could have been nineteen, she could have been into her twenties. The Serioli's face held a certain youthfulness that was hard to place. Lank black hair pulled back into a tight tail displayed the predominant cheekbones, the lips that looked almost sullen, a nose that had a small red scar on the bridge between the eyes. A face that, while standing on its own was unique, once in a crowd it would just become another face in the mass.   
  
"Your name?"  
  
"Emily." She looked directly ahead the whole time; Moebius was slightly unnerved how the Serioli seemed to be looking through him and pass him as if he was not there. To her, he was indifferent, merely an employer for the moment.  
  
"Emily, have you killed many people?"  
  
She shifted her weight, kneeling on her left knee and placing her knuckles on the marble floor for balance. "I have killed enough to be properly qualified for the task before me." The leather armour she wore creaked slightly, the metal buckle of her belt in a strange design glinting in the sunlight that came through the windows.  
  
Moebius nodded. It was what he wanted to hear. "Excellent. Now listen Serioli, and heed my words well. In Nibelung the Circle is having difficulties finding supporters to our cause. Namely, the figurehead of these disagreements is Queen Iseult. She has never been a firm believer of the Circle's decrees and edicts, and with the backing given by King Sigurd no less she is very close to abolishing the Nine's contact with the whole country. This can simply not happen; the preservation of Nosgoth hangs in the balance with this."  
  
Emily rolled her eyes and gave a small reprimanding sound in the back of her throat. "Let me remind you, sorcerer, that my fee is quite substantial, and even for this meeting every minute wasted is an extra silver piece in my purse. Now I do not know where the money is coming from; I do not care to know. But I would think it unwise to dip into the coffers that might on the chance be shared with others."  
  
An unpleasant scowl crossed Moebius' face. His aged fingers gripped the staff he carried with him tightly as he fought the urge to use magic on the Serioli. Emily had, quite fancifully for an assassin, told him to stop blathering and get to the point. Moebius hated being rushed in anything; he chose rather to let everything be known in due time.  
  
"Kill Iseult." The order was curt, abrupt. Emily stood immediatly like a well-trained dog, grasping her falchion as she rose with a smooth and practiced ease. "Kill her in such a way that it looks either like an angered servant's act of retribution or that the queen's death is nothing more than an accident. I want this problem to be dealt with before the next rising of the full moon."  
  
Giving a brief nod Emily pulled the hood of her cloak up, hiding her features in shadows. She turned soundlessly on the heel of her foot and walked out of the inner chambers of the Time Streamer, the Serioli's cloak making barely a ripple in the passing air. Moebius gave a satisfied smile, feeling it crawl up and over his lips, the emotion touching his eyes. Turning back to the pool, he chortled as he thought about what would soon take place in Nibelung. 


	5. In Sheep's Clothing

Spoken hurriedly, in hushed tones. "Vampire."

Whispered behind the veils of the ladies of court. "Somewhere _within_ the castle."

Eyes' darting back and forth nervously. "It could be anywhere. You never know with monsters like that." Furtive glances down halls that were enclosed in shadow and gloom. Once safe to travel during the hours when the sun dominated the sky, the halls were now the very birthing places of nightmares. 

Torches placed in scones that had for the longest time held none. Armoured hands reaching for weapons; the cling of mail against mail. More guards than before walking the halls. "Make sure your armour is on tight boys," a sergeant said before he went on patrol. "These bloodsucking bastards go for any exposed flesh, and are as vicious as any cornered beast." 

Trepidation and unease filling the air like water in a cup, threatening to spill over at any given moment.

Inside his mother's chambers, surrounded by the royal guard, William sat on Queen Iseult's lap and schooled his face to appear blank. At the young age of six, the young prince knew that the last thing his mother needed was to see fear on his face. It would give the queen more tension than she needed at this moment. William was to be the next king of Nibelung, and showing fright here in front of his future subjects would have been unacceptable. Born of warriors and taught from an early age to imitate the qualities of his forefathers, William would not huddle in a corner like some of the ladies of court were doing and shiver.

William could feel the worry coursing through his mother's body, from the way she sipped her wine from the golden goblet to the way she tapped her left foot insistently on the hard stone. Iseult would glare angrily at one of the two serving maids from time to time when they let out a choked whimper, or moved about too hurriedly or loudly. The queen had demanded that all noise be kept to a minimum; who knew if it might bring the vampire down upon them? With deliberate slowness, Iseult set her cup down on the table beside her, making as little noise as possible. An example to all within the chamber.

"William, are you alright?" she whispered in her son's ear. The blue veil that Iseult wore about her head to hold back her long hair tickled the edge of William's earlobe. 

"Of course I am, mother." William replied with the beginnings of annoyance seeping into his voice. It had been, by the young prince's silent count, the fifth time his mother had asked him the question in the span of half an hour. Iseult nodded, and then resumed tapping her foot against the floor.

Looking around his mother's spacious chambers, William noted how different they looked during the night. During the day, when the sun's warming light streamed generously though the rose tinted windows, William had learned his alphabet and numbers, had been taught the provinces and duchies of Nibelung. Even the carpets that covered the floor seemed washed out without the sun's light. Against the wall to William's right was a wall hanging, spun from cloth that had come from the far north and was soft to the touch. The tapestry's image was that of a unicorn in a garden of roses, maidens sitting to either side of the mythical beast. Underneath the carefully embroidered tapestry sat an iron bound chest. William knew that inside were his mother's treasured items that she had taken with her to Nibelung when she had married his father. The chest had been stamped with the young queen's personal seal, a swan gliding along water that rippled out behind it.

To the young prince's left was a door that led into his mother's bedchamber. For the sake of safety and to not watch two chambers at once and thus divide their strength, the guards had locked the chamber up tight and had barred the way with chairs. Two royal guards stood at attention in front of the door, their ears straining to catch any sound that might come from the chamber beyond.

Behind William and his mother the ladies in waiting huddled in a group, casting quick glances out one of the three windows into the courtyard below. Brynhild's strong hands, looking more like they belonged to a woman in the fields than one of the upper classes, wadded up her kerchief into a ball while her eyes looked over the other maids. Brynhild had slapped not long before Freyja, who was perched at the furthest window to the left, when she had begun to have hysterics, claiming that she had seen the vampire. Her cheek still bore the handprint from the older woman. The ladies of court were clothed in their nightgowns, robes flung over their thing shoulders that would afford them some warmth in the cold chamber.

In front of William, the young prince could see the door that led out into the corridors of the palace beyond. The doors had been locked from the inside, and a trio of guards stood in front of it, their halberds held in a relaxed armoured grip. William knew that the unperturbed expressions the guards wore on their scarred faces were just for show – at any given moment they would be ready to deal with the vampire should the monster show its face to them.

The only light that filled the chamber was a small lantern, set in the centre of the table where Queen Iseult and William were sitting at. The guards had asked that one light at least be kept on. When Iseult had demanded pointedly to know why, the lieutenant had said most adamantly that no human could see in the dark while a vampire could. Iseult had allowed the lantern to be lit after that. 

William fidgeted, wanting to be set down and stretch his legs. A slight tingly feeling was beginning to work itself over his left arm; the prince curled his fingers into a fist and held it until he felt the pins and needles feeling abate. His eyes were heavy and it was a huge effort for him not to yawn. Thoughts slow and muggy from the lack of sleep, William blearily tried to remember how he had ended up in his mother's chambers. The young prince recalled being woken up by his nurse, how he had turned towards her with a ready curse that just last week William had learned from one of the guards. His nurse's hand had quickly clamped over his mouth, her voice in a high whisper ordering him to be still. Then he had been dragged from his chambers and through the castle halls, the guards surrounding him while looking over their shoulders as if expecting an attack at any moment. The young prince had head from snatches of conversation by the palace servants that a vampire had somehow managed to scale the ramparts, had sadistically slain the guards and was now roaming loose. In the higher chambers that belonged to the queen William had been placed with his mother and was now under lock and key.

A thought suddenly occurred to the heir of Nibelung. "Mother," William whispered in the near darkness, "where is father?"

"He is out hunting for the vampire, Willy."

"Please don't call me that, mother. I'm too old now for such a name." William's voice held an imperious note, rolling his eyes at what he considered to be a horrible pet name. "Why is father hunting the vampire? Why is he not here, protected like we are?"

Iseult smoothed back William's blond hair, cut in a pageboy fashion. "Because what type of king would he be then if he were to hide away from the vampire instead of going out to face it as a true ruler should? The people respect Sigurd, your father not because he is king, but by the deeds he has done. A true king will protect his people, even if it might be at the cost of his own life." When Iseult said that, William felt her tighten her hold on him just a bit more, her foot tap just a little faster.

"Father will return," William spoke in a defiant whisper. "He _is_ my father, after all. And your husband."

Laughing quietly, the queen kissed the crown of her son's head. "Yes, he is your father, after all." _So precocious_, Iseult thought. _Does he have it from Sigurd or I? Or is it something that he was born with?_

A scream suddenly tore through the heavy silence, echoing eerily down the halls and corridors of the Stahlberg castle. It went on and on, growing in pitch and intensity. It was a cry that only an animal caught in a trap, or a human about to meet death, would be able to utter. The guards drew their weapons, eyes narrowed and caution filling their faces. One of the maids whimpered, another began to cry softly. Brynhild's mouth narrowed into a fine line and her hand looked ready to slap some sense into the woman.

"Where did that come from," one of the guards demanded. "Does anyone know?"

"It sounded like it came from the grand hall of the palace, but with the echo you can't be sure," another answered tersely. "But it sounded close, closer than we need it to be damn it."

"Be silent everyone. Hold your tongues, for it might just mean your lives. Dowse the flame," the lieutenant curtly spoke. One of the guards did so, and the chamber was plunged into darkness. All the occupants could do was sit quietly and wait. The sound of his own breathing was harsh in William's ears and through his own nightgown he felt his heart ready to burst through his chest.

He hoped to pass through the night alive.

~ ~ ~

The castle was well defended but not impregnable, or so the general mass seemed to agree when Emily asked the people of Stahlberg. She did not just ask anyone on the street; such a thing would have been the very height of stupidity and would have aroused suspicion sooner or later. Instead the Serioli had gone to certain areas of the city that the well to do and proper citizens would have no dealings with. On the eastern edge of Stahlberg, where thieves and murderers as well as those 'touched' in the head drifted to sooner or later, Emily had inquired about the castle's battlements in five different establishments. 

"Not one thief has gotten in that has returned," a grizzled man with one eye and a balding head had told Emily as he collected beer mugs from patrons too drunk to realize that their drinks were being taken from them. "You can count on such a thing, by my own missing eye."

Another person from the pub _Everybody's Fool_, obviously a mugger, had confirmed what the one-eyed man had said. "Oh there have been many 'o thieves that had gotten the notion to go and git themselves some sort 'o booty, I assures ya lady. Only we ain't never heard from any 'o them again." Emily had thanked the man pointedly and had quickly left the pub. When he had taken the notion of following the young woman in the hopes of taking anything of value from her, the Serioli had drawn her blade and had convinced the mugger that he would rather continue his life with both hands and a heart instead of being sent into the Beyond.

All conversations had pointed in the same direction for Emily. Stahlberg castle had an entrance that the underworld knew of and that the royal guard had never got around to closing. The denizens of the east end were convinced that Emily was looking to steal something, or acquire an item as the politically correct term went, and then make a haste retreat. They could not have been further from the truth. Emily was only looking for an entrance; she was not looking for an escape route to use. Once inside the castle, she could easily go about her work without being noticed by the servants or staff.

However, it was the location of the entrance that eluded the Serioil. Finally, at the last pub she visited when the sun was sinking below the horizon and more people were filling the streets, Emily came across a person that had been willing to give her the location. Sitting across the old and dirty man, one of those who was obviously different from the others in the head, Emily raised one eyebrow and could only scoff slightly. A dirty red bandana covered the man's eyes, hiding the empty sockets. More than a week's worth of stubble clung to his cheeks, and his hair was as greasy as the chicken that the establishment was serving that evening. He had a nervous tick; the man's left hand would spasm, and then fasten tightly over anything that it was holding. 

"You want to know about the castle, missy?" He gave a lop-sided scowl, showing teeth that were rotting in the gums.

"Yes," Emily spoke in a neutral voice, devoid of any emotion.

"Don't want to go there, don't want to." He wagged a finger at her, and then pounded his fist into the table hard enough that the utensils jumped. "Bad stuff happening there. I feel it in my bones. Not just for tonight, but for years to come. You understand, missy?"

Inhaling the tavern's odour as little as possible, Emily caught herself nodding and then stopped. He was blind; who was going to see it? "I do not know what you mean, sir."

Running both hands through his stringy hair with flakes of dandruff falling to the table's top, the man muttered to himself for a few moments and then laughed. "No one does, do they? I could say it all and you wouldn't believe me. Not one in this bar would." He raised his voice to be heard over the din of the others. "Not one of ya would!"

"Bad things happen all the time," Emily spoke to soothe the old man. "It is a way of life, is it not? Especially in cities as large as this one. Just tell me how to get into the castle, sir, and I will be on my way."

"I smell something bad coming off of ya, missy. Like the grave, but only there is no rest in the end. Not for people who meet you. I predict things like this, ya know. It's why I'm here, because I'm touched but not like the others. No, never like the others." Emily shifted slightly in her chair, folding her hands across her chest nonchalantly. With a twist of her right wrist, Emily felt the small dagger fall from her sleeve into the palm of her hand. No one had seen it, and if the man began to prove violent, then his little _prediction_ would soon come true.

"And it is because of this little ability of yours that you know of a way into the castle?" Emily couldn't help the note of disbelief from entering her voice. The old man cared to either not hear it or was unable to.

"Yes, it is." He grinned; Emily got a glimpse of pus seeping out from an opened sore on his gum. "But before I tell ya, missy, give me your right hand first." He held out his own right palm, encrusted with dirt as it was, waiting expectantly.

The Serioli arched an eyebrow, the corners of her lips turning downwards. "Excuse me?"

"Its me price for giving you the location. I only want to read your hand, to know your fate. It's a hobby that I have. You can try to ask around the whole of the east end, but you'll find that all who came asking for the location came to me, missy. I'm the only one who knows. Pay the ferryman or you don't cross the river."

_He's more touched in the head than he knows_, Emily reflected mockingly. His words were sane enough to the assassin and she assented. "Very well, I suppose the price is only fair." Transferring her concealed dagger into the palm of her left hand, the Serioli gingerly gave her hand over into the 'touched' man's. She expected that the touch would burn, or at least in some way there would be pain. There was nothing, only the old man's fingers quickly darting over the palm, tracing the lines in the flesh and feeling the pads of the fingertips.

At length the vagrant grunted and pulled back from the Serioli. "I see a lot of trouble ahead of ya, missy, things that you would have been able to stop should you wish too. But you, like your own kind, chose to do nothing and let everything take its own course. I don't know how some people can do that and live with themselves, but you seem to do a good job of it."

"I did not come here for a lecture," Emily interjected, hastily pulling her hand back and wiping the dirt from him on her pants' leg. "The location, now."

He gave a hacking cough, wiping the phlegm away with the back of his hand. "You smell of the grave, missy, smell of it real badly. What's got you hurrying to death so quickly?"

Emily had had enough. Underneath the cover that the table provided, she pressed the small dagger up against the inside of the old man's thigh. "Tell me what I came to hear, kind sir, and I would be as inclined to not cut the large vein that pulses through your leg. Once my dagger pierces the flesh, you will bleed out in a matter of seconds and nothing will be able to stop it."

The old man stilled, save the tick in his left hand, and nodded. "Very well, missy. You make your point clear for someone like me who has no eyes." He gave a raspy chuckle. "On the western wall of Stahlberg castle, just beyond the moat, there is a crack within the wall. Small enough, you can get a small boat or piece of driftwood through there with you on it. Once inside, you are inside the lowest level of the castle." He held up both his hands. "And that's all I know, missy. Now get lost. The stench of Death himself hangs over ya!"

She had left, grateful to be away from it all. Under the cover of darkness, the young crescent moon hidden behind clouds, Emily had found the opening just as the old man had said. Dressed in the dark browns and blacks that the assassin preferred, Emily had been undetected, as she had made her approach. It was not like royal guard to let people slip past their net of resistance, but Emily had done so. The Serioli had expected better, but when the ramparts were over fifty feet high she supposed that even the best slipped up sooner or later.

There had been no driftwood, but Emily had found a small skiff that had been tied around a willow tree and hidden by the overhanging branches. If it belonged to one of the citizens who liked to fish in the moat, or was the property of the castle, it made no difference to the Serioil. In the dark, Emily cast off in the skiff and came up alongside the wall. The stone was covered in moss and overgrown ivy, arm deep in some places. Her leather gloved hands searched for the opening in the darkness; curses in her mother tongue filled the night air as Emily became more and more frustrated. Then her fingertips found a crack; tracing it the crack had widened until Emily groped through the vegetation and found the gap. It was no wonder that the castle was unaware of its existence. There was too much growth over it to begin with.  

Steering the skiff underneath, Emily went from the natural darkness of the outside into that of pitch black. Her Serioli eyes adjusted quickly; the one upstanding quality that the Serioil had over others was that they could see in the dark just as well as any cat. Emily easily guided her raft past small outcropping of rock and granite, until she pulled up alongside a wall that had stairs carved into it. Hoisting herself onto the ledge, Emily followed the steps up until she came to a door that had seen better days. Dilapidated, the wood rotten and eaten by bugs, it was easy for the woman to jostle it open and slip through.

Blinking her eyes as she adjusted from the sudden change of dark to the light of torches, Emily looked at her surroundings. From the barrels and heaps of wooden crates around her, the assassin surmised that she was within the storage chambers of the palace. Adjusting her falchion so that she could draw it quickly, Emily tightened her gloves and began to walk quietly through the storage chambers. From time to time her booted feet kicked up small clouds of dust, a sure sign that no servants had been here to clean, only to light the torches. 

Arriving at last to a flight of stairs that had been worn down by the passing of many feet, Emily began to climb. The sheer silence annoyed her; it seemed to worm its way into her ears and would not leave. At the same time, she was afraid to make any noise in case a passing guard's ears caught it. It was as if the whole world had suddenly become devoid of sound, or people had forgotten how to make a clamour. Or maybe, the Serioli thought, just maybe something was happening in the palace tonight that merited such quiet.

The uneasy silence was broken with the sound of a scream, and Emily's thoughts were confirmed.

It was the type of scream that she had heard often enough, the racket that a person made when they had been horribly wounded, the blow fatal. Emily had given such blows but her hands had muffled the sounds enough from her victims that others had never heard it. She drew her falchion out of its sheath easily and held it loosely in her right hand. Taking the last few steps quickly, Emily arrived at the door, firmly closed against her. Pressing her ear up against the wood the Serioli listened for the sounds of running feet, the clanking of armour. She could hear nothing, save another blood curling scream that lingered in the air long afterwards.

"What the hell is happening out there," she hissed under her breath. Kneeling, the assassin took out a small pouch filled with lock picks. In a few minutes the door was unlocked and Emily pushed through, her sword held at the ready. What she saw down the darkened hallway to her left made the Serioli's mouth twist in disgust. 

Placing one foot in front of the other, Emily approached the body in the hall. It was one of the Nibelung royal guards, or he was by the uniform that he wore. The face had been shredded, the cooling blood collecting in small depressions along the floor. The man's hands still gripped his spear tightly in death, the leather gloves covered in his own lifeblood. Emily knelt down beside the corpse and looked along the neck where the armour had been ripped away. Two puncture wounds seemed to glare back at her.

"A vampire. Now I understand why there were no guards on the lookout, and why there are none in the halls. All after the damn vampire," the Serioli muttered to herself. Her senses now further heightened by this new threat, Emily glanced quickly in all directions as she rose. She had seen her fair share of vampires – had claimed a few as bounties as well. Her Serioli village had been greeted by the presences of vampires often enough, and they had reacted, as anyone would have with a wild animal: hunt it down and destroy it. 

Emily decided then and there that it would be too dangerous to attack the queen; with all the guards no doubt protecting the royal family such a thing would be impossible. Instead, the assassin's mind quickly set to work, figuring out how she could turn the disadvantage of a vampire's presence in the Stahlberg castle to her advantage.

_Time to go vampire hunting_, the Serioli thought with barely contained glee. To her, Emily considered this a perk in the job she had taken.

~ ~ ~

The doors shuddered, the strength thrown against them impressive enough that the iron began to groan under the strain. The guards fearfully eyed the door, licking their lips and bracing their feet on the floor. In the chamber, the women began to shriek, running around madly as they searched for an escape. Brynhild had stopped slapping them and was instead looking around for something that could be used for a weapon. 

Wood began to break off of the heavy doors, the metal beginning to buckle under. Iseult grabbed William in her arms. In the dark, with the screams coming from her ladies in waiting and the guards shouting in the hopes of being heard by the other humans in the castle, the queen did not know what to do. Her first and foremost concern was William's safety. Stumbling through the inky blackness, flailing limbs hitting her backs and skirts brushing up against her own, Iseult made her way over to the trunk. Falling to her knees, one hand brushing along the trunk's lid until it was opened, the young queen grasped William in her arms, hugging him. Over the panicked cries in the room Iseult told William to hide in the trunk and to not come out, no matter what happened.

"Mother, what if-"

"Be silent in there, William," Iseult hissed as she tossed scarves and linen over him. "Don't you dare come out no matter what happens!" Before her son could protest again, Iseult had slammed the lid shut and turned in the direction of the door. 

The sound of the wood cracking caused her heart to leap into her throat.

The metal shrieked, high-pitched and overriding the screams from the women. The door fell inwards, the thundering sound filling the room. The guards gave their battle cries, leaping forwards in the direction in which they hoped the vampire was.

In the trunk, William balled his hands together and placed them over his ears, not wanting to hear anymore.

~ ~ ~

Emily did not see any living guards as she glided wraith-like through the halls. There were plenty of bodies that littered the way, making it easy for her to find the vampire. It had been careless in its kills and was not bothering to hide anything. Obviously the other palace guards were hunting still for the vampire in other sections of the castle, or they were being deliberate cowards and not coming to deal with it at all. One thing was for certain. This vampire was utterly mad – one that had come to her village once had been the same. Only when the Serioli had gone hunting, there had been ten of them, not just Emily.

Screams, frantic and female-pitched, made Emily snap out of her reverie. Following the sounds, the Serioli dashed down the halls until she came to the chamber that lay at the end of the corridor. The doors hung on their hinges, twisted and smashed by the vampire's strength. In the darkened chambers beyond, where the torches' light did not fall, the screams and the sounds of wood crunching could be easily discerned. Emily picked up one of the torches and boldly stepped into the room, her falchion ready.

The scene within twisted the Serioli's stomach. It was like looking inside a butchering house. Before Emily, lying in a heap was another royal guard and a young woman, her left arm ripped from the socket and dress soaked in blood. The walls and tapestries, claw marks over them, were spattered in blood too. Further in, illuminated by the light of the torch, she could see the remains of what had once been a table. A body was lying on the wood, the flesh pierced in multiple areas. It was mutilated enough that Emily was unable to tell if it had been a man or a woman. Gagging reflexively, Emily swept the torch ahead of her, the light finally catching in a corner of a chamber a group of women huddled together, two guards standing before them, their weapons covered in blood. And its back to Emily was the vampire.

As the Serioli watched, the vampire launched itself at the guards, arms spread wide to grip them both in a bear hug. The crunching of the bones through the armour was sickening. Blood poured from the guards' mouths as the insane vampire dropped them to the ground as it gibbered incoherently. Through it all, the women screamed. At the corner of her eye, Emily saw movement. She turned quickly and gasped without knowing it. A young boy was climbing out of a trunk, a look of determination on his face. The vampire saw the child too and sensing easy prey, turned towards the boy.

"Hey!" Emily cried out to the vampire, bringing her sword up with the edge of the blade pointed to the monster. It hissed, turning to face the new arrival. The skin was flushed with new blood, but the vampire's body was gaunt, almost like a skeleton. Yellow eyes widened for a moment; a grey tongue flicked out and licked away the blood from the vampire's lips. Baring its talons at Emily, the vampire took a menacing step towards the Serioli.

"William, get back," a woman in white – Queen Iseult, Emily's mind gave the information quickly – cried out to her son. That cry caused the vampire to turn back to the boy, hissing at the young human before it. 

It was so hungry ... the blood it had consumed could not fill it up fast enough ... perhaps the blood from someone so _young_ would be enough ... rent the flesh, tear the bones, watch that face turn into fear ... yes, so delicious...

Iseult cried out as the monster turned on her son. Her handmaidens pulled her back, none of them wanting the queen to rush in blindly. William stood frozen, his eyes wide and face pale as a monster he had only heard about in stories came towards him. It was Death itself, only Death was not wearing a black cloak or carrying a scythe. It had fangs and eyes that glowed evilly. William whimpered and felt his bowels loosen. Shame mixed with the fear at such a loss of face, but the fear was overwhelming.

Emily acted. Pulling her arm back, the Serioli threw her torch at the vampire. It impacted on its dead flesh, the fire eating away and leaving a charred smell in the air. The monster reacted; it arched its head back and howled in agony. Three strides was all it took for Emily to reach the vampire; one clean slash along its back and upper left arm as it turned to face her. A talon streaked out to grab at the assassin. Emily pulled back, and all the vampire was left clutching was her cloak. Growling, its eyes flooding over with insanity, the monster pulled the Serioli in. In its haste to kill its opponent, the vampire had forgotten that the human was still armed.

One thrust, right into the gut. Emily yanked her falchion upwards, feeling the ribcage give way under the strong steel. The vampire released its grip on Emily and grasped at the sword, cutting its hands as it tried to pull the blade from it. Emily threw all her strength behind the blade and felt it come through the other side of the vampire, felt it grate against the spine.

Shrieking, screaming in agony, the vampire whirling around crazily as it tried to grasp the sword. Falling to its knees, blood frothing at its mouth, it began to imitate the sounds of a beaten animal. As the women watched on in horror and with a macabre fascination, Emily withdrew a small sickle from the folds of her cloak. Standing over the vampire, the Serioli whirling the curved blade over her head before bringing it down on the monster.

Its head, now freed from the rest of its body, hit the floor with a dull thud and rolled until it hit the remains of the table. The body wavered for a few moments longer, the arms twitching, and then it fell to its side.

Iseult raced to William, wrapping her arms around her son and cradling him to her chest as she cried tears of relief. The young prince clung to his mother as if unsure that she was real, that at any moment she might vanish. Torchlight suddenly flooded the ruined chamber as a troop of Stahlberg royal guard entered, King Sigurd at the head. The king looked over the scene before him. His eyes fell on his wife and son; immediately he strode over to them to see if they had been injured. Emily, oblivious to the presence of the king or of the guards, jerked the blade unkindly from the vampire's now twice dead body, creating more gashes in the pallid flesh. Wiping the blade on a ruined tapestry, the young woman re-sheathed it and finally seemed to notice the arrival of the new warriors.

"Who're you?" It was one of the lieutenants that asked, looking carefully at Emily. More eyes turned to Emily, all wondering how this person had shown up conveniently when needed and had taken down the vampire when seasoned warriors had not. The Serioli was about to give back a plausible lie when Iseult interrupted her.

"What does it matter? She saved William! She saved him when no one else could. This girl deserves our gratitude, all of it." The young queen wiped tears from her eyes and walked towards Emily, leaving William with Sigurd. "And what is your name, so that I can give you your reward?"

"Emily," she said quickly, "Emily Sunfire."

Iseult turned her head slightly. "A strange last name."

"It's a Serioli's name," the assassin responded. 

"Serioli," Sigurd murmured. "Not many of them like to go come to cities as large as this one."

Emily gave a small bow in the direction of the king, but spoke to Iseult. "I am a little different from my other Serioli countrymen." 

Iseult clapped her hands. "And it has done you well, Emily. I feel that there is only one reward that I can give to someone so brave and courageous such as yourself, who managed to defeat such a monster when no one else was able to. My handmaidens can agree that your valour is what saved us tonight." At this the young women chorused that they had indeed seen courage in Emily that the men had been lacking.

At this a few of the guards looked at each other and then at the newcomer with distaste, but all held their tongues. The women of the castle, in the guards' views, were clucking hens and nothing more. King Sigurd came to stand beside his wife, holding William in one strong arm, the boy still crying quietly. He whispered in his wife's ear; she nodded and the royal couple looked at Emily. Even in the bloodied chamber, where moments before something awful had happened, Emily received the distinct impression that something even she had not been planning would occur. That it might complicate her plans.

"It is my wife's decision and mine," King Sigurd announced, "that you, Emily Sunfire, become the personal bodyguard of Prince William."

For a few moments, the Serioli stood stunned. It seemed almost ludicrous that something like this would happen to her, but it had. Then her mind turned inward, whispering that this still did not change anything and that, if anything, it would make her mission from Moebius easier to accomplish. Plastering a smile to her face, one that held no real happiness behind it, Emily made a small bow.

"Your Majesties, it seems I have no other choice but to humbly accept your offer."


	6. A Tragic Fall

Before the next rising of the full moon. 

That was that Moebius had said to Emily, when the deed that she had been hired to deal with must be completed. His words had been very insistent and had held no room for manoeuvring. Emily would not have bothered to try anyway. She had lived by her own creed that she would accomplish any task that she had been assigned to, no excuses given. And she did not wish to give excuses to the Time Streamer.

The moon would be full within the next two days, and Emily still had not found a convenient way in which to kill Queen Iseult. The woman was guarded well; being a political enemy of the Circle made one more grateful of guards. The Serioli knew that an outright attack was doomed to fail. Some of the Nibelung guards might not have been the fastest and most quick-minded in the lot, but they had been trained to work as a component. Emily, who had no other people to call to her side, was cagey enough not to risk her own neck.

Poisoning the queen's food was also out of the question. Some one, a very smart advisor, had mentioned to the queen that most rulers upon making political adversaries found out too late that their meals could turn into a well-planned death trap. A food taster had been hired and while none had died so far, the alarm would ring around the palace once one brave appetizer did. The circle around the queen would tighten even further, and no attack would ever succeed.

Racking her brains for a solution to a growing and grave problem, Emily occupied a carved wooden chair in the corner of William's study room, her brooding eyes fixed to the floor as her mind drifted miles away. She was an assassin; she had taken cases far more difficult than this. The only thing that changed was that Emily was working within a time limit. For what reason Moebius wished the queen dead before the next full moon, the Serioli did not bother to dwell on it. She had not been paid to think of such lofty political thoughts, only to act on her missions' objective.

Prince William, who was learning his numbers from a tutor that was quick with the cane to correct his mistakes, snuck quick glances at his new bodyguard. Dressed in drab browns and a subdued blue tunic, the prince's guardian did not look like she was capable of taking down a vampire. Without her sword and cloak, Emily appeared to be harmless. With such a plain face too, no one would even look at the strange Serioli twice. Of course it was William's first time meeting a Serioli and he did not know how that raced behaved. But he wished to learn.

She wasn't like any of the other women in the castle that William had known. Emily Sunfire did not bother to speak anything unless it was something important, and she did not involve herself with the gossip that passed from servant to servant. Her clothing was more of a man's than a woman's, and she could run much faster than the captain of the royal guard was able to. In the prince's opinion, Emily was one of the most remarkable people he had meet who lived outside the castle.

For a few moments the boy allowed himself to feel honoured. Not only did he have a bodyguard all to himself, but also she was also a vampire hunter and a Serioli. It made her unique. And to William, it made him feel distinctive as well. No other royal child, as far as he knew, had a Serioli keeper.

"Mind the numbers and not other people!" 

The cane cracked down swiftly on the desk, the sound like a peal of miniature thunder in the study room. Jumping in his chair, more startled than scared, William quickly turned away from looking at Emily and went back to his mathematics. 

"Leave the prince alone. You have been pushing him hard enough, and he won't remember anything if you beat it into him."

The teacher turned to face Emily, a look of indignant rage plastered on his wrinkled face. "And what gives you the right to tell me what I can and cannot teach His Highness? Some woman whose only talent in life is to kill things? I bet that you do not even know your basic geography! Someone as lowborn as you would not need it when all you need to do to move from place to place is hitch a ride on some hay wagon. Prince William will need to learn the countries, just as he will need to learn his figures, when he becomes Nibelung's next ruler." So enraged by the Serioli stepping in where she did not belong, the tutor began to spit his words out, the saliva hitting William's paper. The spit mixed in with the ink and it began to run, making the scratchy and messy numbers mix together.

In the small and cool chamber, the grey walls unadorned save for books lining the back wall and a red carpet on the floor, the elder man's frail cries were amplified ten times to what they originally were.

Emily gave a long and cool look at the tutor. Rising from her chair slowly, the royal bodyguard used her height as an advantage over the older and smaller man. Coming over to stand beside William, the Serioli took the paper that the prince had been working on without looking and crumpled it up into a ball. Tossing it aside, all the while staring down at the feeble professor, Emily spoke to the young prince.

"Come on Prince William, class is over. You can study tomorrow."

Getting out of his chair fast enough that it fell back onto the floor with a clatter, the prince was out of the door faster than most people would expect a child to move. Dressed in the reds of the Nibelung royal family, it was like watching a ruby imp dart from one hiding spot to another. As soon as Emily was sure that the last of William's blonde hair could not be seen in the chamber, she pressed her face closer to the tutor's. The man flinched and stepped back as he looked into eyes that held something he could not even begin to describe.

"Do not, _ever_, undermine me in front of His Highness. And under no circumstances are you to injure the boy in any way," Emily's voice was a low octave, but the power behind it filled the room. "He has been through a recent vampire attack, and let me assure you tutor, if I find one cane mark on his back, I will not tell the Majesties and let them deal with you. I shall undertake that privilege myself."

"I-I-" A weak stutter passed his creased lips.

"Do you understand, old man?" Emily leaned forwards quickly, causing the man to react by stepping back quickly. Nearly losing his footing on the worn flagstones, the tutor dropped his cane and stepped back on it. The piece of wood cracked down the middle.

"Yes," he answered meekly. Nodding, accepting his submission, Emily turned and strode from the room, leaving the tutor behind to pick up his ruined cane and mend his damaged pride.

William saw the Serioli come out of his study room, an almost smug look on her plain face. The prince knew he was not the greatest decoder of emotions on the human face, but while he hadn't heard a word that his bodyguard had said to his tutor, William fantasized that it was something particularly vile. After all in his childish mind, William was sure that Emily had faced down tougher opponents than his teacher, and had won.

Fixing a small bow to Emily as she came up beside him, William smiled. "Thank you for getting me out of that class. I thought I wouldn't be able to stand another moment, Miss Sunfire."

"You can call me Emily, Your Highness," she responded in a bland and almost dry voice. "When you call me miss, it makes me sound older than I am."

His curiosity piqued, William could not help but ask the question that had been running through his mind since Emily had become his personal guard. "Just how old are you?"

Turning to look out one of the arched windows, Emily motioned with her hand that they should walk. "I am not yet familiar with the Stahlberg castle, Your Highness. If you would give me a tour of your home, then I will willingly answer most of the questions that you ask of me."

Eager to learn more about Emily, William nodded vigorously. "Come on then, I know a really nice place to show you. Father doesn't like me watching the soldiers fight, but I like watching them practice their drills." Grabbing Emily's left hand with his own small two, William pulled her along and was more than happy that he had been giving the responsibility of showing his bodyguard around her new home.

"So how old are you," William asked again as they walked down a narrow staircase, passing a serving woman as she was coming up. The woman nodded to William and barely glanced at Emily as she continued with whatever task she had been assigned to.

"You know it's rude to ask someone that, Prince William."

"I am the prince of Nibelung. You have to answer my questions because it is a royal question. My father said so."

Rolling her eyes at the imperious tone that William had adopted, the assassin made a white lie. "I cannot remember. I know I was born in the winter months, sometime after the Snowgale month. Perhaps twenty-two years ago. Normal births aren't recorded the same as royal ones are."

"But you are a Serioli. Your people must have some way of marking the days, right? I've read as much as I could about the Serioli and all I know is that your race is good at making weapons."

Emily gave a short laugh. It echoed down the long hall they were travelled, to which at the end lay an open doorway that lead out onto the sprawling, rose-lined ramparts of the Stahlberg castle. "We have no special way of marking days, Your Highness. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but the Serioli aren't that much different from the other people of Nosgoth."

The disappointment that showed on William's face was apparent, but Emily held her tongue. Serioli did not talk about personal matters to non-Serioli, be they royalty or even a Circle member. Emily was certain that William would not be able to even grasp some of the more detailed levels of Serioli culture until he was much older, and even then to understand a culture one had to grow with it to begin with.

Coming out of the dark halls and into the full light of the mid-afternoon sun, the two blinked. A wave of heat washed over them, an abrupt change from the coolness inside the castle. The summer months were approaching, and the heat was making itself known. Soon the crops in the fields would grow, and the summer market in Stahlberg would be filled with people from the other countries of Nosgoth. The young prince and Serioli walked along the inner ramparts and watched the guards below in one of the many courtyards practice their drills. William leaned up against the stonewall, careful of the growing roses and the prickly thorns as he watched the soldiers below with a sharp eye.

"My mother wants me to learn my letters and numbers, and my father does too. But what I really want to do most of the time is to watch the soldiers fight and learn from them. I have a wooden sword that I got from one of my aunts - not like yours Emily that is real - and I practice with it all the time. Sometimes I'm even able to fight with one of the royal guard if no one is watching."

"I see," was the answer. William glanced curiously at Emily.

"When did you learn to fight? Who taught you?"

Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, Emily folded her arms over her chest and appeared to give the question serious thought. "I was about your age when my father handed me my first sword. My uncles taught me to fight, but it was my older siblings that took me out to my first vampire hunt."

The prince's eyes lit up when he heard the word 'vampire'. "Really? What was it like?"

Emily shook her head. "I'll tell you when you're older, Prince William. Your parents would not like me to tell you stories like that."

"Tell me! I already know how to swear because of the guards. I hear them talking all the time. I have heard their stories, and none of them are very eventful. Sometimes they even repeat the same stories." William stomped his foot. "It's boring!"

"Are you having a tantrum, boy?"

Frowning as deeply as possible, William shook his head. "But I will if you don't tell me. I will scream."

Clapping her hands mockingly, the bodyguard glared back. "You do that then. But make sure to scream long and loud, boy, because it takes a lot for someone to hear from so far away." She nodded down to the guards, who didn't seem to notice or were even aware of the small drama happening above them. Emily knew she was goading the boy on; deep down the Serioli wanted to know if William ever had it in him to make good on any threat that he ever spoke. 

As he opened up his rosebud mouth to scream, it was Queen Iseult and her ladies in waiting that interrupted. Walking down from a bisecting rampart that curved off to the northern section of the castle, Iseult called out her son's name as she saw him. Snapping his mouth shut, William turned to face his mother, certain that he heard Emily snickering behind him.

"William, why are you out here instead of studying?" Iseult looked beautiful as always. Wearing a blood red gown that accented her white hair, the material was made of light damask to cope with the oncoming heat of the summer months. The queen's hair was parted down the middle and combed back into a single braid, pulled over her left shoulder. With the other ladies of court standing around her, dressed in their own colours, Emily had the mental impression that she was staring at a menagerie of paradise birds instead of women.

"Emi – I mean, my bodyguard," William caught himself before he spoke Emily's name, "told me that I had been studying long enough and thought that I should spend some time outside."

Blue eyes flickered from the child to the young woman. Emily gave a small nod, confirming the truth in William's words.

"Yes, I... told the tutor that it would be a good time for him to take a rest. He is after all, an old man and the heat can not be good for some one his age."

Iseult gave a smile that showed in her eyes. "I see. And it is not because a certain someone _insisted_ on such a thing, it is Miss Sunfire?"

The Serioli managed to give a dazzling grin back to the young queen while at the same time crossing her fingers behind her back. "Why Your Majesty, I have no idea of what you speak of. I would never do anything of the like."

"Mother," William interrupted, "can you tell Miss Sunfire to tell me tales of her exploits when she hunted vampires? I would like to learn about such things. If I am to be king one day, then I will have to fight vampires as well and I wish to be prepared." The way the young prince folded his arms across his chest, and how he planted his feet on the parapet, Queen Iseult was struck by just how much he looked like his father Sigurd.

"One day, when the weather is not good William, then I believe your bodyguard would be kind enough to tell us all a tale," Iseult answered, catching Emily's eyes with her own. Nodding her head in acquiescence, the young woman turned her gaze out towards the city that lay beyond the castle walls. It was very faint, but the Serioli could pick out the sounds of the people with her excellent hearing.

Brynhild tapped the queen lightly on the shoulder with the feathered fan that she carried. "My most gracious lady, may I please remind you that you need to speak again to yet another Council representative that has made an engagement with you?"

Iseult knelt down to look at William. "Would you be able to leave us alone for a while, Willy? Your mother needs to talk with her ladies. You can go down and try to practice with the guards below." The queen gave a wink. "I won't tell your father." 

A wide grin crossed the prince's face. Nodding quickly, he forgot in his haste to chastise his mother on using his nickname in front of the other adults. As he raced past the ladies in waiting to find the stairs that led to the courtyard below, Emily moved to follow. Iseult stopped the Serioli with a hand. 

"Please, for just a moment stay here, Miss Sunfire." The queen gave a long sigh, one that held a mixture of resentment, anger, and exasperation. "It never ends. Just when I feel that I have made some headway with them, those Pillar Guardians feel they can try to change my mind with some other tactic. More lackeys for me to handle. Praise be to the Gods that none of the Circle members themselves come. Then we would all be in trouble." Iseult glanced at Emily. "I suppose that you are not use to hearing a queen denounce the all powerful Circle, but it does happen."

Emily shrugged her shoulders. "My people do not follow the rule of the Council. We wouldn't stand for it to begin with."

"And how do the Serioli rule?" The question was asked by Anya, the youngest of the ladies. "I am interested in knowing about the Serioli. Like how handsome the men are, and how they take wives." Good-natured laughter followed the last sentence.

"We Serioli rule by having aldermen elected each year, one from every village to make sure that all voices are heard. As for marriage," the disguised assassin noted quietly how Anya leaned forwards expectantly to hear the last, "you expect something strange and with a romantic notion. It's not like that. It's the same as here. If the man, or woman, has an interest in anyone else, they approach him or her. Or challenge them to a duel to see how well a warrior they are. It is our way of 'testing out the ice' which is a saying from one of the villages further up north."

Anya giggled. "I don't think I would be able to do such a thing."

"No," she replied mildly, "I don't think you would."

A tense silence hung in the air. The young lady looked over Emily, wondering if the Serioli meant the words in jest or in truth. There was nothing on the bodyguard's face that would give it away.

"We must be off." Queen Iseult clapped her hands together. "We cannot keep the Circle's messenger waiting, although it would be tempting to do so." Emily let the women pass her by and was about to follow William down to the courtyard when she was stopped again. "Miss Sunfire."

Emily turned to face the queen. "Yes?"

"Watch your steps on the castle walls. I forgot to tell you before. Some of the places along the walls, and the steps themselves, have been worn away so much that some people loose their footing. It was only a few weeks back that a servant unfortunately fell from the steps." Iseult's eyes were cast down for a moment as she remembered the tragedy. "I would not want the same to happen to you."

The Serioli made a small bow. "I thank the queen for giving me the warning." As the small cluster of women set off again, Emily watched her target with narrowed eyes. Mentally the assassin grinned.

_And thank you, Iseult, for giving me the idea that I sorely needed and lacked in._

~ ~ ~ 

It had been too easy. Truly, the queen was a smart woman, but she trusted far too easily those that were close to her or to her family. And already she was treating Emily as family, albeit a distant relative. She came to see the Serioli, as the note had instructed, on the southern parapet. Emily had stated she wished to ask the Nibelung queen a few questions relating to her new job. Preferably while the two were alone, and that no one knew of the meeting. It was easier, Emily had penned in the note, for the words to never reach the ears of Council members or their servants.

Waiting for the co-ruler of Nibelung on the parapet, Emily took the few moments she had to herself to look over the view. Stahlberg castle's south wall ended at the end of a sheer cliff, the distance to the ground below staggering. The Serioli had an attack of vertigo every time she looked over the edge; soon she stopped trying to see the ground below. Beyond the cliffs that hugged the southern edge of the castle and the city were miles of unending and unbroken forest. The green leaves rustled in the wind; off to the southeast Emily could make out a river flowing.

There was no light from the moon, now nothing more than a sliver in the night sky. It was a perfect night for the job that lay ahead of the Serioli assassin. 

Emily did not have to prepare herself for what she was about to do. There were no qualms running through her head, no second thoughts. For an assassin who had killed as long as she had, there was nothing there now. If anything, her mind was quiet. Everything, she reasoned, had to die sometime. The queen, unfortunately, would not be able to live to a grand age as some others had. Emily did not feel in any way sad that she was about to make William loose a mother. She had lost her own mother when she had been little, and she had pulled through the ordeal. William would do the same.

The light patter of footsteps behind the Serioli marked the appearance of Queen Iseult. 

"Evening, my queen." Emily dropped a proper bow as Iseult came up beside her child's bodyguard. Wrapped in a black robe to ward away the brisk wind that blew over the castle walls, Iseult nodded in return.

"What matters do you wish to speak of, Emily? Is my son causing you trouble?"

Waving a hand, the Serioli gave a little smile. "Please my queen, your child is extremely well behaved. But before we talk of anything else, may I inquire as to how your meeting with the Council representative went?"

Iseult's mouth narrowed, as if she had swallowed something bitter. "At every corner they try and overpower me. They want nothing more than for Nibelung to become a puppet state, acting under their commands and to their fancy. My husband is more of a fighter than a diplomat, so I cannot count on him to speak well against the Nine. When he and I both die, we do not want to hand over an impoverished country to William."

"It must be difficult, fighting against such powerful people."

The queen nodded. Leaning up against the edge of the parapet, she looked out at the forests. "You must think it boring to talk with people day in and day out. It is so much easier what you do, fighting the problems in front of you. You do not have to worry about people in the shadows plotting behind your back, at every turn."

Emily was quiet for a few moments. "It isn't as easy as you would think. Then again, everyone has their own problems. What did you tell the messenger?"

"I told him," Iseult's voice carried a note of humour in it, "I told him that he could take his ass and walk back the way he had come. He had to be taken by the guards and lead out of the castle. He was causing a scene."

"But still," Emily sighed, "enemies are everywhere. The Circle of Nine doesn't stop until they have what they want."

"I will fight them," the queen spoke defensively. "Until I die."

"Would you?" The Serioli cocked an eyebrow. Iseult nodded. "You are a woman of strong morals, Your Majesty. I can admire that in a person, but it still doesn't stop me from doing what I have been paid to do."

Iseult turned her eyes to Emily, a question forming on her mouth. The Serioli assassin gave a curt nod of her head then leapt quickly at the young queen. Iseult tried to move, but Emily's hands clamped down on her shoulders like iron vices. Before she could scream a hand covered Iseult's mouth. Kicking wildly, throwing herself from side to side the young woman tried to move, but Emily had dealt with stronger people. The queen was no challenge.

"I bring a message from the Circle," Emily hissed in the queen's ear. "They could not order you, they could not reason with you, and so they finally decided to kill you. I am your angel that will send you to the next plane of existence."

Iseult shrieks were muffled by Emily's hands. She was crying frantically as the Serioli dragged her towards the edge of the parapets. "Like you said, Your Majesty, people fall up here. You gave me this idea in which to kill you, since all others would have failed. I admit that this is a crude way to kill someone such as yourself, but I'm all out of options."

Pressing a bundle of nerves along the queen's neck, Iseult slumped over in the Serioli's arms. Her cries halted and she did not move. Emily had been taught which nerves incapacitated or even killed when touched correctly. All she needed to do was make it look as if the Queen of Nibelung had been sleepwalking and had fallen to her own death. Easy enough for the assassin.

Hauling Queen Iseult up by her arms, Emily rolled the woman onto the edge of the parapet. And then, with a slight shove, pushed the queen off.

Emily did not see so much as hear the body hit the ground. With Iseult dressed in her dark robe, and with the moon not lighting up the sky, it would take a while for her body to be found. When it did happen, people would all say the same thing. It was an unfortunate, if tragic, accident.

The pressure of completing her assignment now off the Serioli's orders, Emily calmly and quietly walked back to her room in the Stahlberg palace to sleep the rest of the night away.


End file.
